


my attempt at writing shitty tumblr prompts ft. johndave.

by gayriot



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anime, Anime Tropes, Cute, Fluff, Humanstuck, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Slow To Update, Soulmates, Tumblr Prompt, Unrequited Love, What Was I Thinking?, and coffee shop aus, dave strider the dick rider, i have a soft spot for college aus, im so lame, john/dave freeform, or make up, these are just prompts i find, transgender character, whatever!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4906996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayriot/pseuds/gayriot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ive gone through a bunch of titles for this (including a collection of cute broments and dumb gay shit but those were shitty titles) and ive finally given up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. NERDS

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first fanfic on this site and honestly everything about setting it up was a bit confusing and overwhelming, im sorry if i did something wrong! also, everything written in parenthesis (like (( )) .) is John's thoughts.  
> EDIT: 2/11/16 FUCK when i first started writing this i didnt even realize this part would show up on every chapter but im keeping it here because my incompetence amuses me.

He's always doing this to you!

Holding things above his head, just out of your reach, teasing you, resting his arms on top of your head...  
Honestly, it's a bit more intimate than you'd like to admit.

"Dave!" you whined, standing on the balls of your feet, swinging your open hand through the air in an attempt to get your phone back. It's not like you were incredibley short; it wasn't like Dave had an extra foot or two on you, he just so happens to be a couple inches taller and have slightly longer arms than you. His lanky structure gave him an advantage over you. You didn't bother jumping up and down to retrieve your stolen item. You knew he would give it back, eventually, after he watched you struggle and whine after a few minutes.

((Whoa there cowboy calm down on the innuendos!))

It wasn't all bad; while you prayed for your arms to magically stretch and retrieve your phone, Dave's coolkid demeanor would crack and crumble around him. He'd smirk occasionally, and let out a genuine laugh that made your stomach do a somersault-

((Whoo boy where'd that one come from haha no.))

His shades would slip down his nose a tad, giving off a slight view of his eyes. Instead of pushing them up and putting on a blank face like he'd usually do, he'd let them slide, continuing to stare at you with his crimson eyes as you rattled off lame jabs at him.

(("God Dave, this is, like, so dumb. C'mon dude this is so dumb!"))

You loved hearing his laugh-

((Because, you know, he's your bro. A bro can enjoy his bro's laugh without any hint of homo, right?))

-and the way his Texan accent would slip out as he teased you.

You loved it when his fingers would brush over yours when you finally get your stolen item back.  
You were nervous when you realized how close you were to him, having stepped closer to his body while reaching for your phone, but he didn't seem to mind.

He didn't push you away, with a chuckle and the infamous, "No homo."

((Maybe he doesn't realize how close you two are standing.))

And-oh, wow-he hasn't fixed his shades and you're getting a full show of his eyes. His sunglasses are slightly obscuring your view, but you can see his vibrant red eyes behind them; wide, trained on you, and...slightly confused? Scared? What is that?  
His pupils are dilated and you see a faint blush across his cheeks. You study the few freckles you can see, most of them still hidden behind his sunglasses.

((You want to rip those shades off and throw them in the corner.))

Your hand reaches up and, without thinking, you take them off.

((What's more surprising: the fact that you did it, or that he lets you?))

You've seen his eyes before, but never like this. Never with his shades 100% out of your view. You can see all of his freckles on his face, his blonde eyelashes, and every twitch in his face, a giveaway that he's trying to hide is expressions. You've never seen him so...vulnerable. 

((He also looks so much more attractive than usual, with the sunlight streaming through the window and casting soft shadows across his face. Uh, wait no shit-))

You're not sure when you started holding your breath, but you exhale through your nose right before you speak.  
"Dave..."  
He blinks at you, his face even redder than before.  
"Can I...?" 

You don't know what you were going to ask, exactly, but he still nods his head when you go silent.  
You stand on your tiptoes once again and connect your lips with his.

The kiss is quick-

((More like a peck, sadly.))

-until he grabs your hand and pulls you back into it.

Neither of you know what you're doing exactly; your noses bump awkwardly and you both try your best to not get your braces caught. 

((You're both fifteen-year-old questioning kiss-virgins, what would one expect?))

But it's slow and nice and slightly hesitant.

Your first kiss was with your blindingly attractive best bro with red braces that match his blazing eyes.  
He's not sure where to put his free hand while the other one holds yours, so he leaves it dangling at his side.

When you both pull away ((Gotta come up for air at some point)), his coolkid smirk returns as he says quietly, "You're fuckin' kawaii."

You laugh and flick his forehead for ruining the moment  
((But yeah, this whole thing is pretty fucking kawaii.))


	2. Chapter 2 alternatively titled dont be a pissbaby go talk to him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has actually smoked before and he just wants a chance to talk to Dave but this is not what he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :P  
> is this a prompt it probably is somehow whatever  
> also this was longer than i thought oops

Dave Strider isn't the type to get close to people. Or to reach out to people. Or to even interact with people at all.  
The only close relationship he's ever had has been with his brother, and from the average person's point of view, it's not even that close at all. But it's a pretty good start for someone like Dave.

People have tried to interact with him. When he was the new kid at school, students thought he had an air of mystery about him. He always wore his sunglasses (thank god Bro sent in a bullshit note to the school about his "sensitive eyes") and remained silent unless spoke to. What was so cool about being distant from everyone anyway? Maybe it was because the girls found it attractive. Perhaps it's because the guys praised him so the girls would notice them too. It's stupid. School is stupid. People are stupid.  
They all thought that it would be cool to see who could make him talk. Every time he was approached, all they would receive was a short one word answer or slight nod. It never really got old for them, though. At least he had choices for lunch tables instead of just eating alone.

All that was a couple years ago. Dave is 17 now, pretty much already got one foot in the grave. Two feet in the grave. Fuck it, he's already in the coffin; fancy suit and all. Being an almost-adult pretty much sucks to him. His youth is dead. R.I.P childhood.

He's got one "friend" (acquaintance, island of sanity, rock he can grab on to and never let go when he feels like an emotional piece of shit, basically someone he talks to when he hasn't had human interaction for weeks) named Karkat. But calling him Karkles and Kit-Kat sounds so much better.

"Hey Kit-Kat," he says, smirking in amusement at the glare he receives, "Pass me a cig?"  
Karkat says something under his breath, most likely some lame insult, and hands him a cigarette. Lighting it with his cat decorated lighter ("This shit is so fuckin' sweet man look at it.") he looks across the school courtyard. Most people are sitting down for lunch and talking with their friends, others are standing near the trash bin in case the cafeteria food kicks in, and some of the annoying popular students beckon Dave to come join them. He looks at the sky and takes a drag of his cigarette, probably thinking he looks poetic and shit but he's just fucking nerd. 

Dave leans against the brick wall of the school, copying Karkat's posture. He pushes his shades up so they don't fall down. Karkat elbows his side and, before he can say anything, says quietly, "Look it's your boyfriend." Dave follows his gaze to a boy with raven black hair. It's messy and it looks like he just rolled out of bed and left his hair like that and he looks absolutely adorable an-

"Shut up, asshole. He's not my boyfriend," he says.

"Look dude, I am the master of all things romantic and shit. I can help you act on your infatuation with that dweeb."  
Dave takes another drag and flicks his arm. "Karkles I appreciate the sudden concern with my love life but I am not infatuated with him. His hair is dumb and so are his glasses and he's dumb, and so are you." His friend gives him a look that says without a doubt "wow-you-are-being-so-ridiculous-I-can-literally-tell-how-hard-you-are-crushing."

One of the good things about him is that he knew from the start Dave wasn't as in to the ladies as he seemed, and he was completely chill with it. Sure, occasionally he tried to pick out boys for him, but other than that it was a relief for Karkat to know his sexuality. At least there was one person he didn't have to hide himself from.

He sighs, staring at the boy behind his shades. "Yeah, like that super kawaii shota boy is even spending a split second of his life thinking about a dick in his ass. Probably wanking it to the 'Can't Remember to Forget You' music video."

"I'm gonna pretend that you didn't just say 'super kawaii shota boy' and help you out; go talk to him. Or at least walk past him a few times."

He thinks about it for a moment. What's the worst that could happen? It's not like he's just gonna run up to that anime boy and profess his undying love for him! No, he has nothing to lose. But what if he wants to talk to him? Dave's never wanted to interact with another human being so much! Maybe it's not even as romantic as he thinks. It could simply be nothing more than a strange platonic crush. Well...

"Fine. I'm going."

He walks in the direction of the boy. He's sitting on the grass next to a girl with dark black lipstick and hair as blonde as Dave's. She's hunched over, reading a book that sits in her lap, so she thankfully doesn't notice Dave walking by. But the boy next to her does. It's a quick glance. It makes him freeze in his spot for a second, until he regains his cool and keeps waking. The boy has eyes that are so fucking blue he can practically feel himself drowning in them, and when he notices the pink tint on his cheeks as he looks back down to his phone, he can feel his face heating up as well. Well shit, he thinks, where do I walk to now so he doesn't think I'm creepy or some bullshit? 

His mind is panicking as it chants

GO TO THE WATERFOUNTAIN WATER FOUNTAIN WATER FOUNTAIN WATER FOUNTIN WATER FOUNATAIN WATER FOUNTAIN WATER FOUNTAIN.

Shit that's such a good idea good one mind you didn't fuck this one up wait no that'sliterallyrightnextto that fucking shota boy shit no I can tell that he's looking at me with his fucking blue doe-eyes shit what the fcuk look away you fuckign cutie 

Dave wipes water off his face with his sleeve, telling himself to fucking control yourself man the water goes in your mouth not on your forehead Jesus Christ.

"Uh, Dave right?" He jumps at the sudden sound. He looks down and yes it was that cute ass motherfucker who just said his name and oh god.

No no no keep your cool man what the f u c k.

The boy clears his throat when Dave doesn't respond and says, "Uh, yeah, so I'm John. I had a question for you." The blonde girl that was previously seated next to him has vanished and he silently wishes she was here to possibly make this less awkward. The shota boy-John-stands so that they're eye-level. "So, how do you smoke? A cigarette, I mean. I've never had one and I was curious so just yeah." This almost makes Dave smile, which is surprising because this is the most facial expression a stranger has ever gotten out of him. But, John isn't really a stranger. He's thought about him enough and had so many dreams about him that it's weird that this is the first time they've ever had a conversation. 

He lifts his hand that holds his cig and gives it to John. "Just put it in your mouth and try not to inhale too much," he says. He tries it out, and immediately starts coughing. Handing it back to him, he responds, "Well fuck that's harder than it looks." Don't think about that innuendo too much, he reminds himself. Heh.

Dave gets an idea. It might be a little out there, and it might just scare John off and make him avoid him forever, but it's worth a shot.

He takes some of the smoke in his mouth, pulls John in, and releases the smoke in his mouth. When they part, he opens his mouth and a curl of smoke leaves it. "Well, it's not traditional, but you've learned one way. It's a start," he jokes, slightly nervous that he's ruined his chances with him. But then, he smiles and says, "I think that might be better than the traditional way. Thanks." He walks off in the direction of the school building and fuck what the fuck holy shit and wow he has a nice ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have never smoked before and a lot of those typos were intentional b y e


	3. dave acquires his first boy princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @lindzeta: "when i was 7 i had a crush on a girl in my class & didnt know how to deal w it so I wrote her a letter that just said "get out of my school"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i saw a tweet and thought "hey this could be a cool prompt imagine your otp doing this" and then i just

You are Dave Strider. You are 8 years old, and today is a very big day.

Today, you might've just found your princess!

It's just like the stories your teacher reads in class. Some brave knight finds the damsel in distress, all alone up in her tower, and rescues her, and then they get married! Well, maybe it's not exactly like the stories. You're definitely not marrying your princess, although it might be fun to think about! But there is one problem with your princess. Shouldn't princesses be...girls?

In every story you've read, it describes a beautiful girl up in her tower, begging to be saved. She has long hair and wears a pretty dress and has a pretty, girly voice. Yours isn't like that at all! His name is John. He has short hair, and definitely doesn't have a girly voice. But he does sometimes come to school wearing tutus over his jeans. Everyone thinks it's pretty funny, and you think that maybe you'd like to wear one with him one day.

But is there something wrong with you? Why isn't anyone else's princess a boy? Does this boy even want to be your princess?

You don't feel sick or anything. You don't feel like there's a problem with you. Maybe you just haven't found any stories with boy princesses again! Yeah, that's probably it. Besides, John is prettier than any other girl princess that you've read about. And he's super nice too. He'd make a good princess. Maybe he secretly is royalty and that's why he's like a princess.

Liking him actually feels pretty normal. You never thought your princess might be a boy! But you'd like to hold his hand one day and maybe hug him, and maybe when you're older you can kiss him like they do in the movies and books. Right now kissing actually sounds pretty gross to you, but you assume it's something that most couples do later on, so maybe it's different then. You should probably just stick to bringing him an extra snack everyday for now.

"Hi Dave!" John chirps as he sits down next to you, swinging his lunchbox on to the table. He's wearing a blue tutu today. "What do you have today?" You rummage through your paper bag and pull out a small case of animal crackers and an apple juice box. "Lucky! All my dad gave me was grapes an' an apple. You want it?" he says, holding out his apple for you. "Yeah," you say as you take it. You slide him your animal crackers. "John," you say, "what do you call a boy princess?" He thinks for a moment before saying, "A prince." 

Could John be your prince? You don't even know if other boys have princes! You know that Dirk has his own prince, but you think that that's, like, an adult thing. Later on, you leave a note in John's cubby that says:  
get out of my school!!!  
You get in a lot of trouble for that one, but you and your prince make up over Mario Kart and animal crackers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was shorter than i planned and it turned out kinda shitty but


	4. okay but teen angst up the wahzoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dumb teenagers doing stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i checked my stats and noticed that 4 people subscribed to this!? what!? i love you! also, if u wanna listen to it, i listened to Fade Into You by Mazzy Star while writing this and it's what theyre listening to in the chapter. btw i wrote like 4 different chapters for chapter 4 but they were either too sad or too long but i think this one is my favorite out of the ones i wrote for chapter4. idk man i have a thing for a bit of sadstuck u know ?

Drunken smiles and empty promises. That's all that they are, right?

The promise of forever as he kisses your cheek lingers with the scent of alcohol.

He's drunk. You're drunk. None of this means a thing.

He gently brushes your hair out of your face and places a kiss on your forehead, and it's almost funny because he's so short.  
But neither of you will remember this, so what's the point?

He looks at your eyes and tells you about how beautiful they are, how beautiful you are, how much he loves your eyes.  
But they'll look demonic when he's sober again.

You're softly singing along to the song that's playing. You aren't sure what it is, but it sounds like something from 2005 which is perfect for a 16-year-old like you, and it's pretty nice. John hums and leans his head on your shoulder as you both sway in the darkness of your room, and everything is so calm and okay that you almost forget that it's a lie.

Almost.

He says something that's almost inaudible, something about how he loves your voice. You kiss the top of his head. Might as well make the best out of this before it's over, right? 

John's arms tighten around your neck as he turns his head toward you. He places his lips on your jaw, not moving for a moment before he peppers it with kisses. You sigh and tangle your fingers in his hair. He moves down to your neck, biting and licking the skin next to your Adam's apple. You don't know how he remembers your sweet spots, since you're both always drunk when it happens, but maybe it's just time to let it happen.

He sucks on the skin and does his work for a little while before he pulls away. There's definitely a mark there, but Bro won't care. He never notices.

"I love you," John sighs.

He sounds more sober than you thought he was; he's a lightweight, but maybe he's building up a tolerance finally.

But he's still intoxicated, so you don't believe anything he says. Hell, you're still intoxicated too. You probably aren't even hearing him right.

You don't respond. Instead, you close your eyes and kiss him, and it feels like the same song has been playing forever but it's nice and soft, so you're fine with that. 

Your face feels...wet. Is John crying? You pull away and no, no he's fine, but he's staring at you with a cute worried expression on his face and fuck no wait Striders don't cry.

"Dave-"

Your sob interrupts him. You feel weak and vulnerable. Striders don't cry. They don't worry about what other people think about them or whether that person really does like them. Why are you here, in your dark room, listening to 2005 alternative music, drunk and sobbing in front of some dumb boy that you're in love with? Why isn't he laughing at you? Why is he kissing your tears away and wiping your eyes with the sleeve of his sweater? He's still here, watching you fall apart because he tugged at one damn string and it affected everything.

"I'm sorry," you sniff, trying to hold back tears.

John pulls you into his embrace and you decide that it's okay to let this happen. It's okay to let this dork comfort you because you've been holding up your rep for a while now and dammit you deserve a break.

He runs his fingers through your hair, which gradually calms you. You sigh and kiss his temple when you feel the lump in your throat start to disappear.

"Sing the song for me? Please?" he asks.

You can't find it in you to open your mouth and speak so you just hum. You assume he's okay with this because he doesn't say anything else, he just runs his fingers through your hair and leaves a few more marks on your neck. It's more than usual (the most you've ever gotten was a hickey and a bite mark that faded quickly), but you don't question him because you know you'll start crying again if you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u havent already noticed, i love making things kind of emotional


	5. dave: be an art ho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i do not own any of the artwork mentioned, this gallery is not a real gallery, and as far as i know the artist mentioned is not in an actual gallery (if i find out he is then ill b sure to mention it!)

Your name is John Egbert and wow, you are bored as hell.

Although you love your ~~boyfriend~~ -fiance, you remind yourself-more than anything in the whole world and would do pretty much anything for him, you can only handle so many chiseled penises at one time.

Now that you think about it, shouldn't the plural form of penis be different? Like, how "cactus" becomes "cacti?" "Peni" could catch on! It's easier to say than "penises" and sounds funnier! It also kind of sounds like an alien race from a sci-fi movie, but-

"Earth to Egbert, come in Egbert! Houston, we have a problem."

You jump slightly at the sound of his voice and blink a few times. Dave is standing with one eyebrow slightly quirked upward at you, his camera resting in his hands. He smirks bemusedly at you.

"Sup, man?" he says.

You smile sheepishly and rub the back of your neck. "Sorry," you mumble, "just zoned out, I guess."

He punches your arm lightly. "At least look a little excited," he replies.  
"If I have to suffer through your midnight-movie-marathons, you can survive a few oil paintings, yeah?"

You roll your eyes, smiling. "Oh come on, you know you love those movies!" you tell him.

"Yes, I practically creamed my panties when McConagay's mug appeared on screen during Interstellar. I'll admit it though, it definitely beats your Nic Cage phase of high school."

At the mention of it, you sigh through your nose. "Rest in pieces to my school career, for my reputation still remains in shambles because of my love for the Cage."

"...And it's McConaughey."  
"More like McCona-no-way."  
"That was so lame, you dork."  
"McCona-hey, let's go check out that painting I mentioned earlier."

You ignore his totally dweeby use of puns and follow him through the gallery. The two of you pass paintings and photographs trapped in gilded frames, and statues reaching out to get hold of you as you walked. Sunlight passes through the tall windows and shine on Dave. You watch him flip down the lenses of his [aviators](http://www.anysunglasses.com/cocoons-aviator-flip-up-polarized-sunglasses.html), squinting. His hair looks golden in the light and his freckles stand out against his pale skin. 

For a moment, you could understand why Dave loves art so much.  
"Here it is."  
Hung up on the wall at roughly 4 feet in height (you're guessing) was a painting of a young dark-haired girl. She had a rose pinned in her hair and red liquid dripped from around her eyes as if she had cried off her makeup. The oval frame was dark in color, and you noticed it was the only one that didn't seem to be tinted gold.

"[Rose](http://www.markryden.com/paintings/blood/images/paintings/large/rose.jpg), by Mark Ryden," Dave spoke up, not even glancing at the list of names in his hand.  
"A little Gothic, I guess. Rose would have a psychiatric's field day if she knew that this was my second favorite out of everything in this gallery."

It was a very nice painting, even with the slight unsettling undertones of it.

"If this one isn't your favorite, then which one is?" you ask, intertwining your fingers with his free hand. 

You hear a loud snapping sound and turn your head to look at him.  
"Hey, what are you-"  
"Sorry, I forgot. Not allowed to take pictures of the art in the gallery."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few updates: i have not given up on any of my fics, mark ryden is the love of my life, and ive learned how to embed links into my writing and obviously im going to take advantage of it.


	6. fuckin hentai yo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> really weird teen boys talking about anime tits xx  
> a.k.a my attempt at posting something after having disappeared form this fic  
> a.a.k.a a weird filler chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "boys talking about horrible anime is this even a prompt or whatever i just made this up can this be a prompt????" prompt

TG: hey egbert  


TG: egderp  


TG: egburrito  


TG: egnerd  


TG: eghead  


TG: egs benedict arnold  


TG: salted egs with ketchup  


TG: egtraterrestrial turd nugget  


TG: flapping monkey shit dick  


TG: *john*  


EB: oh, hey dave!!  


EB: what's up?  


TG: there you are bro  


TG: left me hanging for so long  


TG: thought you up and left me for dead  


EB: well sorry Mister Clingy for actually trying to get homework done!  


EB: you know, you should try it sometime.  


TG: try what, doing homework? nah man that's not happening  


EB: >:B  


EB: that's why you're probably gonna get held back this year! you'll be stuck in the eighth grade FOREVER.  


EB: by the time you actually make it to senior year, you may very well be an actual senior.  


TG: wow  


TG: sick burn  


TG: youve wounded me  


EB: you need some ice for that burn david.  


TG: its dave, johnathan  


TG: dont be a rose  


EB: you don't be a rose!!! don't call me johnathan!!!!  


EB: was there a reason besides annoying me to death that you started pestering me?  


TG: damn whats wit the salt dude thought we were bros guess not  


TG: these egs are a little TOO salty for my delicately balanced food palate  


EB: dave you eat spicy cheetos everyday for breakfast you don't have a palate  


TG: daaaaamn john  


TG: back at it again with them sick buuuuurns  


EB: that meme is DEAD dave  


EB: DEAD  


TG: okay but all overused memes pushed aside and kicked to the curb  


TG: i have an actual question for u  


TG: what is so appealing about animated anime tiddies  


EB:  


EB: what  


TG: i was just thinking man like i kno youre all up in that anime batshit and the like but what exactly is it about these hand-drawn underage lolitas and their abnormally bodacious badoinks that really gets your third leg all up in a tizzy  


EB: dave, i am not having this conversation with you. it's just not going to happen.  


TG: come on man  


TG: for science  


EB: well  


EB: i don't know! i don't watch THAT kind of anime!  


TG: so ur saying you dont partake in a lil boku no pico every now and then?  


TG: hmm  


EB: why are you "hmm"ing.  


TG: i think  


TG: i think im calling  


TG: utter  


TG: bullshit  


EB: what are you talking about now!  


TG: i simply cant believe that you dont watch that kind of shit that is such BS  


EB: ...do you watch that kind of stuff?  


EB: ...  


EB: dave? where'd you go??  


EB: it seems i have skimmed the surface of your anime dilemma.  


EB: my diagnosis: secretanimetitsloveritosis  


TG: dont you dare doc mcstuffins me, eggles  


TG: i was downloading something for u  


turntechGodhead sent file [thisismydick.wmv](http://moetube.net/watch/63140/boku-no-boukuugou/1)

EB: "this is my dick." real classy, dave. as always.  


TG: shut up an watch the vid why dontcha  


EB: haha, okay okay!  


EB: ...dave.  


TG: yeah egbuns  


EB: i'm only through the intro and what  


EB: the  


EB: fuck.  



	7. april brings more than just birthdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this isnt even a prompt tbh i was gonna say its a soulmate au but. where

It was the time of the year when things changed once again--April. Here, in the northeast, no one was sure whether it was spring or summer, fall or winter. One day, the air was heavy with heat and vapors shimmered off the ground, and the next the sky had flushed grey with the promise of a temper tantrum. On those days, when the child in the sky had colored the walls in grey fingerprint and wailed when it was finished, John would hole himself up in his room, his own personal confinement. He'd huddle under the safety of his blankets; they served as his castle where he was the prince, instead of the king, so he could imagine that he wasn't getting older. 

The April that John was twelve, the year he read a story in school about talking eggs and mean families, he walked to the window in his bedroom on a stormy night, blankets pulled tight around his small body, and watched the glass get streaked with tears from the child's eyes. The sound of its screams penetrated the patter of rain, rumbling in the dark sky until it was nothing but a low growl. The flailing arms and stomping feet of the child sparked above and lit up the neighborhood, if only for a moment. John trembled in the safety of his castle. He noticed another child, one he'd never seen before, this one visible to everyone, standing on the sidewalk below his window. His orange hair stuck to his forehead. He stood in a fighting position facing a trashcan, throwing punches and swiping kicks towards it, dodging imaginary attacks. When he'd move too quickly and slip and fall on the ground, he'd bang his fists on the ground and shake his head, mimicking the sky child. John watched him instead of the other kid. 

The April that John was fourteen, he'd put away his drawings of the crying child in the clouds because now there was more wind than rain. Maybe the kid had grown up and learned to calm himself down with his breath, not his tears. Though, sometimes he did have his bad days. On those days, John watched the boy across the street sit in the tears instead of fighting a make believe foe. And that's the only time he ever saw him-when he soaked himself in tears from the clouds. 

The boy bleached his hair the April that John was fourteen. From his window, the boy's hair looked fried to John. His bangs hung just above his eyes and sometimes he clipped them back with plastic butterfly clips when he sat out in the rain. He didn't spar with the trash anymore. He sat on the steps in front of his house, tossed a beanbag back and forth between his hands and watched raindrops fall. John had an inkling that he knew he watched him from his room, but if it bothered him it never showed. They both sat and let the child's tears comfort them, instead of letting it flood their heads with fear. And John decided to retire from his position as prince, and on the last day of May that year, he left his castle.

The first day of April for John as a fifteen-year-old, he went outside during a tantrum. It was hot, the air clung to him just like the pollen that clung to his shirt during July did, but the warm tears ran down his head and left his skin slick. In contrast to the air he breathed in, it felt cool. Rain patted down his thick curls and clouded his glasses. The boy across the street glanced up at him when he walked out, but did nothing. He remained still on the steps. His hair was shorter, and his natural hair color had began to show through the blonde. He wore a dark red shirt that stuck to his form and baggy black sweatpants. He was barefooted. His feet kicked up the wet leaves and acorns on the ground, scraping across it. John sat down on the tire swing on his front yard and watched the sway of his body with every scrape across the ground. The water dripped into his eyes, so he closed them. 

John turned eighteen when he first spoke to the boy. There was scruff starting to show on his face and he'd almost grown out of the awkward body he had as a child. On his birthday, he dug out the bins filled with drawings of little kids sitting in the clouds and crying. He brought one to his father in the hospital, because he'd once told John he liked those drawings. When he saw the boy sit outside with a drawing pad for the first time on a day that wasn't the result of the repercussions of an upset child, he brought another drawing to him. He asked for his name, and then asked him to redraw his drawing, even though he'd never seen any of the boy's drawings. His name was Dave, and they were beautiful. 

The next tantrum, Dave came to his house. They boarded themselves up in John's old castle. Dave drew pictures of John as a prince in his castle and when they fell asleep, he dreamed up a knight who bleached his hair every month and carved drawings into trees with his dagger. 

When Dave turns nineteen, John asks him to give him a drawing lesson. He tells him that he can't draw, but Dave only says that yes, he can draw, all he has to do is pick up a pencil and draw whatever. When John throws his body across his lap and whines, he agrees.

"Don't press so hard on the pencil-it'll be harder to erase," Dave says. John gives him a warning look, and the wind outside his house picks up.

"How else am I supposed to press? The pencil won't show up if I don't do this," he replies.

"Look, watch me, just go a little light...are you even paying attention?"

"Of course I am! I just...can't art. Look at my stick figure, the head looks like a bean."

The nineteen-year-old laughs and agrees with him. He runs a hand through his newly cut hair, pushing his bangs off his forehead in a way that frames his face perfectly. As the light outside fades, they light up the room with random candles they find scattered about the house in fear of the wind knocking the power out. John crudely doodles Dave lighting a candle, adding a party hat and squiggling a Happy Birthday message near his head. He folds it up and puts it in his discarded hoodie, hoping he doesn't forget to bring it home with him later. 

"Your dad won't be home until tomorrow morning, right?" his friend asks, wearing a mischievous smirk. The howling of the wind punctuates his sentence.

When he leans in closer to his face, John takes out the green butterfly clip pinning his hair up and puts it in his darker hair. "That's right."

Dave presses a kiss to his lips, John taps out a song he memorized for the piano on his shoulder, and the wind sounds like the keys.


End file.
